


The Little White Cottage on the Sea

by spandycat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunters, Bed & Breakfast, Dead John Winchester, Dead Mary Winchester, Dean Has Nightmares, Dean Writes Horror Fiction, Dean is Bad at Feelings, F/F, F/M, Ghosts, Grumpy Bobby Singer, Haunted Houses, Hunter Castiel, Law Student Sam, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-12-21 22:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11954052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spandycat/pseuds/spandycat
Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester have just arrived their late grandmother's sea-side cottage in Belfast, Maine. The former bed-and-breakfast has sat untouched for the better part of three years, leaving it in much need of some TLC. Unknown to the boys until now, Millie had left her cottage to them in her will, though she had never met her grandsons. It wasn't until their father passed away this summer that they found the papers, and made the decision to fix it up over the summer and sell. Dean is a mildly-successful horror novelist, trying to work through a bit of writer's block, and Sam is a month away from starting Harvard Law. They both see the cottage as the perfect distraction from the loss of their father and the other stressors in their lives. As the brothers work through their renovation and familial issues, they begin to experience strange events that neither can explain. Escalating quickly, the Winchesters find help from a new friend, the welcoming townsfolk, and their mother's old diary.





	1. Chapter 1

Maybe it was the way she coolly turned around as she heard his steps approach, or the sweet hint of a smile when she saw him, but the steady rhythm in his chest faltered at the sight of her. Long blonde hair was riding the slight breeze, floaty lilac dress hung from her shoulders, and delicate bare feet sunk into the sand. She held her sandals in one hand and lifted the other for a gentle wave. He took a deep breath before he was too close enough for her to hear, and continued his path toward her. 

“Beautiful morning, isn't it?” Her voice floated through the salty air to him, inviting and warm. She looked out to the ocean, watching the birds glide through the air above the crashing waves. 

“There’s nothing quite like this view,” he answers, slowing his steps as he neared her. “Especially as you watch the sun come up.” She looks back to him with friendly smile. 

“Do you live out here on the water?” He notices the sparkle of her blue eyes, a reflection of the sea before her, as she speaks to him.

“Yes, up the shore a bit.” He gestures to the north with his finger, pointing out a small, white cottage just in sight. 

“Oh, I just adore that cottage. The old bed and breakfast. What a lovely porch to sit and watch the waves.” She watches the house dreamily, as if imagining herself doing just that.

“The porch is definitely one of its finer points. The interior has much to be desired, however.” He shrugs, but does take a moment to appreciate how tranquil and inviting his home appears from the distance. 

“I’m sure it's lovely inside, as well.” She encourages. “And besides, why would you spend anytime indoors when you could spend it out there anyway.” 

“You make a good point.” He nods, smiling more at the beautiful woman in front of him than at the thought of his outdoor living space. “My brother and I are fixing the place up. Actually just moved in a week ago. Our grandmother left it to us.”

“So you’re a Winchester, then? I didn’t realize there were any more of you. I assumed it had gone to auction.” She’s inquisitive now, eyes no longer fixed on the sea. She smiles at him, but it’s not the same easy smile as before. 

“Yes, Dean. Winchester, that is. My brother, Sam, and I had never met her, actually. Our father kept us on the road our whole lives.” He offers, but decides not to continue with his sob story. “Anyway, we just found out about the place a month ago. Sam’s here for the summer before he goes off to law school, but I’m going to be staying. Needed a place to work, anyway.”

“And what do you do, Dean Winchester?” Her demeanor has eased again, letting Dean release the tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t been quite aware of until then.

 

“I’m a writer, novelist, I suppose.” He shrugs up his shoulders and slides his hands into his pockets, hiding them away from the crisp morning breeze. “Thought this place might be inspiring.”

“Yes, I imagine it would make a great hide-away for the recluse author.” She replies, tone and smile implying she’s teasing the man.

“Hey, I’m not a recluse! But it’s much easier to write in a beautiful place than being holed up in a one-bedroom in Lawrence.” He can play right back. It’s been a long time since he’s had an actual conversation with a woman, much less one as beautiful as the goddess in front of him.

“I’m just teasing, Dean Winchester. I’ve got to get back to real life now, unfortunately. I’m sure I’ll see you around, though.” She smiles, looking down at her feet, and when she looks back up, he can see a slight rosy flush to her cheeks. He nods in agreement, and reaches out a hand to her.

“Nice to meet you, …” He pauses, realizing he never got her name.

“Pleasure was all mine, Dean.” She turns, ignoring the hand, and makes her way up the sand dune, towards the road. He frowns, still holding his hand out, confused at the interaction. Wasn’t she just flirting with him?

He succumbs to the rejection, lowering his hand back down to his pocket. He smirks and shakes his head, eyes to the sand. As he collects himself and starts back down the beach, he sees her look back to him with a smile and a wave, gracefully moving back to tuck a strand of hair back behind her ear. Damn. She knows exactly what’s she’s doing.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where the fuck were you, Dean?” A voice calls from the kitchen as Dean lets himself back into the cottage. He chuckles to himself as he slips his sandals off his feet on the mat next to the sliding door.

  “You know you can’t have a mouth like that in court, right, Sammy?” Dean teases his younger brother as he strides into the kitchen, sappy grin spread across his face. He takes a seat on a stool at the counter, across from where Sam is currently pouring two mugs of coffee.

  “You didn’t even put on the coffee before you left. We need to get this place done before I go to school so you can put in on the market. We’ve only got three weeks.” Sam slides one of the blue mugs over to Dean, straight face and stern eyes telling Dean to get his act together.

  “Sam, we’ll get it done. Don’t you want to enjoy this a little while you’re here?” Dean gestures to the house around him.

  “Not really, Dean. This place creeps me out.” Sam scrunches up his nose and shivers at the thought of staying here. He takes a long drink of his coffee, which he’s just doctored with half & half and a couple scoops of sugar.

  “It’s an old place, Sammy.” His brother shakes his head at the nickname. “It creaks and moans, that’s what old buildings do. I promise there’s no monster in your closet.”  Dean nudges his brother with a fist, chuckling.

 “Ha-ha, Dean.” Sam’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “She died in here, you know. That doesn’t freak you out at all?”

  “No Sammy, it doesn’t. We didn’t know her. And she left us the house. She clearly wanted us to be here.”

 “Whatever. Let’s get to work though, huh? I want to get that siding down before it gets too hot outside.” The boys finish their drinks and head out to start on the renovations.

-

 

 “How pissed do you think Dad would be?” Dean huffs out, simultaneously pulling the old, decaying siding off of the cottage. He wipes the beads of sweat pooling at his hairline with his freckle covered forearm before returning to the next piece.

 “Well, the fact that we didn’t even know his mother was alive for most of our lives suggests that he wouldn’t have been too happy about it.” Sam shoots back, glaring over his outstretched arm to Dean. The younger brother is taking his frustration with Dean out on the board, hacking away at it, even though the boards are decayed enough that the pull off with little effort. “Can we just stop talking about it all, Dean?”

 “Fine, whatever, Bitch.” Dean replies, taking his brother’s cue and smashing one of the boards with his hammer after it’s been torn from the house.

 “Jerk.” He hears Sam quietly responding to him with a smirk. He looks back over to him, just to be sure his brother okay. Sure enough, his brother has a small smile on his face, assuring Dean that his brother is starting to feel better.

  “I was thinking that we could a light blue outside, keep the white porch and trim. Make it look ‘beachy’.” Dean suggests while after they work in silence for a bit.

  “The white would be a lot simpler for us. Do you really want to paint the whole place?” Sam replies, confused as to why Dean would want to add more work to their already long list of tasks.

  “Yeah, just thought it might help it sell faster, you know, if it didn’t look so plain.” He shrugs his shoulders, as if he doesn’t really care either way. They work in silence again, until they have the entire south wall stripped of siding. They fill the back of Dean’s old pickup, a ‘68 Chevy, with the scraps from their project. 

  “I’ll take these to the junkyard and pick up some sandwiches or something, sound good?” Dean asks his brother as they load up the last pieces.

  “Sure, Dean. I’m going to do some studying until you get back. Then we can start on the north side.” Sam closes the tailgate and knocks twice, signaling they’re done.

  “Do you even know how to relax, Sammy? Its summer, go take a dip in the ocean or somethin’.”

  “Dean, go get rid of this stuff so we can get the rest done.” Sam clearly isn’t in the mood to joke around anymore, so Dean just nods and climbs into the cab.

  “See ya in a bit, Sammy.” He waves out the window, watching Sam wave back with a huff in the mirror.

-

 

  Dean pulls his truck out of the junkyard, now with an empty bed and a growling stomach. He remembers seeing a little deli downtown and figures it’ll be better than the gas station food he usually lives off of. Being a bachelor in Lawrence, Kansas didn’t have many perks, but the worst was running into anyone and everyone he knew at the grocery store. All the pitied looks, the sad eyes, telling him they were sorry...He avoided it all by grabbing food from the station on the corner, a fast and easy trip where he was never obligated to stay and chat.

  Belfast, Maine was a quaint, little town, nestled on the coast but out of the way of most tourists. The small town square was rich in historic architecture, housing cozy little shops, restaurants, and family-owned businesses. Dean shakes his thoughts of Lawrence out of his head as he comes into town. He was interested in a particular used book store that he had passed by in his few trips through town, and it’s only a few doors down from the deli. Unenthused about tearing down more siding, he decides to stop in after his lunch. He pulls his truck into a spot across the street, shuts off the engine, and pulls his phone out to send his brother a quick message.

 **Dean: runnin a few errands in town. might be a while.**  

  His phone chimes after just a minute, another quickly following.

**Sammy: Don’t forget my lunch.**

**Sammy: Don’t forget we have to get the north side finished. Don’t dick around too long.**

 Dean chuckles at his brother’s messages, rolling his eyes. He hops out onto the street, shutting the heavy door behind him. He nervously rolls up his sleeves, suddenly realizing that he’s still in his grubby work clothes. The grey crew neck is speckled with white paint chips, and his faded jeans have holes and tears all over. His boots are scuffed and worn down. Dean’s usually not one to care about these things, but he’s in a new town and doesn’t want to make a bad impression. _Well fuck, if they’re gonna judge me for having holes in my jeans, they’re not worth it anyway, right?_ He straightens up his back as he opens the door to the deli.

 His entrance is announced by a little electric chime, echoing through the deli. It’s a small little place, a couple of chairs around a single table by the window, a soda fridge, and the deli counter. A warm face appears from the back of the store, a light-haired, middle-aged woman giving Dean a sweet smile.

  “What can I do for you, darlin’?” He’s surprised by her drawl, clearly a transplant to the area like himself.

  “I just need a couple sandwiches, ma’am.” He answers quickly.

  “Manners, I like that. Alright, what’ll it be?” The woman washes her hands at the sink behind the counter.

  “What do you recommend?” He asks, as there’s no menu or signage around the shop. She only smiles at him in response.

 “You’re new around here, yeah?” She asks as she starts to make a pair of sandwiches. 

 “Yes, ma’am. Just moved into my grandmother’s old cottage just outside of town with my brother.” He answers with a smile to match hers.

  “The old B&B?” She asks, and Dean doesn’t notice her smile fading.

  “Yep, the little white one on the water. Needs a bit of work, but we’re tryin’ to get her fixed up. Working on taking down the old siding today. Came into town for a bit of a break.” He’s watching her hands and she puts the sandwiches together, piling a few lunch meats and cheeses onto each slice of bread. His mouth is watering at the thought of a meal that wasn’t made on an assembly line when he notices that the woman hasn’t responded. Her face no longer had that warmth he felt when first saw her. She won’t look him in the eye, barely glancing up at him at all. She wraps up the sandwiches and tosses them in a brown bag.

  “Good luck to you boys.” Dean can now see the stern face and the almost concerned look in her eyes.  He starts to pull out his wallet, but she stops him. “On the house. Welcome to Belfast.” He nods, confused.

 “Thanks, - Um,” He starts out. 

 “Ellen Harvelle. Don’t mention it, Winchester.” She nods back, then spins around to go into the back of the shop again.

-

 As Dean walks out of the little deli, replaying the conversation in his head. How did Ellen know his name? He didn’t recall introducing himself, but she knew who he was. It was a strange encounter, that was certain.

  He snaps back to the present as a older woman bumps into him on the sidewalk. “Excuse me, ma’am.” He offers, shaking his worries from his head. She gives him a polite nod and enters the building he just left.

  Just a few doors down, Dean spots the signage for the little book shop he was wanting to check out.  _Singer’s Books_ has a simple whitewashed wooden sign with a black font hanging in front of its faded red door. As Dean approaches, he can tell the place has seen better days. The windows are cloudy and the ‘Open’ sign is quite tattered, but the display of beautiful, hardbound classics right inside is enough to draw him in. As he gives the sticky door a little extra effort, he hears the chime from the bell hung above the door, making him smile at the old-timey feel it gives.

  “Hello there, son.” A gruff voice greets him from behind the tall wooden counter nestled in the nearest corner of the shop. A short man adorned in a ratty cap, flannel, and a pair of faded blue jeans gives Dean a nod as he enters, then quickly drops his attention back down to the stack of books in front of him. It looks to Dean that he’s doing an inventory, and decides not to bother the man; He’s had enough awkward conversation for the day.

 Dean gives his own attention back to the beautiful leather-bound H.P. Lovecraft collection he had eyed in the window. He already knows it’s a used copy; he can see the wear at the edges of the binding and a bit of scuffing across the cover. It’s confirmed as his fingertips connect with the book, feeling the well-loved leather and the lightly faded lettering. Other than the slight imperfections, the book is in fairly good condition. This book was well loved and taken care of by its previous owner, which gives Dean a feeling of warmth. There’s nothing like picking up a book, knowing that someone else has spent the time to fall into the story before you. There’s an intimate connection between two readers - sharing a love for the same story on the same pages - that has always excited Dean. Whether it was watching Sammy become engrossed in a book borrowed from Dean’s shelf, or picking up a worn down paperback from the secondhand shop, he can feel it. Two readers, experiencing the same story, yet separated by time.

  A shadow runs over the book as someone passes the window, surprising Dean and pulling him back to his reality. He rolls his left wrist over to check the time on his watch, and decides it's time to head back to the cottage. He’s not entirely how long he had stood there, but he knew by this time Sam would be starting to get impatient.

  “That’s a special one there, son.” The short man eyes the book in Dean’s hand as he approaches the counter. “You gonna take care of this beauty?”

  “Of course, Sir. I’ve never seen anything like her.” He offers, trying to appease the man, even if he’s not sure why.

  “Good. There’s not a one out there like her. A custom binding and all.” The man explains as he writes out a receipt on a carbon-copy pad. “Name’s Bobby. Let me know if you're looking for anything specific. I'll keep an eye out for you.” Bobby wraps the book up in a layer of tissue paper and puts it in a brown gift bag.

  “Thanks, Bobby. I’m Dean Winchester. Just moved into a house down the coast. I'm sure you’ll be seeing a lot of me.” Dean gives his patented Winchester Charm Smile, but the man frowns in return.  _What is with this town?  Is no one friendly?_

“Better get goin’, Son. Good luck.”

  Dean nods in return before turning back to the door. He starting to realize that his new residence is causing some troubling reactions from the folks in town, but he decides to shake it off as he hits the cool Northeastern air. He’s used to being the new kid in town, and this surely can't be anything worse than it was then.


	3. Chapter 3

“Dude, I’m starving. Where have you been?” Sam greets his brother as he comes in the door. 

  “Yeah, you’re welcome for the lunch delivery.” Dean snaps back, tossing the deli bag onto the table. Sam’s pursed lips turn down at the corners. His brother had been in a fairly good mood this morning, joking and teasing. Now he looks as if he’s ready to grab the fifth of whiskey from the counter as take it down in one go. Sam grabs the bag and pulls out the sandwiches and places them on a couple of the cheap paper plates they had been using in the house. He slides one across the table to Dean, then peers down at his lunch. He frowns at the white bread, and he typically doesn’t touch deli meat, but he doesn’t really want to start an argument about this right now. Dean’s just going to have to deal with spinach salad for dinner tonight. 

  “Hey, have you been into town at all?” Dean’s voice is unusually quiet as it breaks through the silence of their meal. He hasn’t looked up, actually, he’s just staring at his sandwich that Sam notices he hasn’t started. 

  “No, I stopped at the gas station on the north side of town, but that’s it.” He studies Dean’s face as he replies, but his expression doesn’t change. He just shrugs his shoulders and finally starts into his sandwich.  _ What the hell happened in town? _

 After they finished their lunches in continued silence, Dean grabbed a couple of beers out the fridge, and started back out to finish up the day’s work. He grumbled and bitched and moaned to Sam, but he wouldn’t take the bait. Eventually, he gave up on that, put in a pair of earbuds, and blasted  _ Led Zeppelin IV _ loud enough that he couldn’t hear himself think anymore. 

  The silence continued into the evening, long past the time they finished the north side of the house. Sam is spread out on the little card table in the kitchen, books full of legal jargon and landmark cases, and whatever else it is the law students study, and fully engrossed in them. Dean takes a spot on one of the canvas-draped couches in the other room, right where he can put up his feet on the coffee table and stare out at the endless blue ocean crashing right in his backyard. 

  He thinks about writing, and he knows he really should. He has a short story due in a couple of weeks, and he’s barely touched it. He’s in the middle of a novel that’s he’s just not loving, but he doesn’t know what it’s missing. He’s been in a funk, _ but it’s definitely not writer’s block, no, definitely not. _ He can write. He sits down and words will spill out of him, but once he comes back to the real world and reads them, he hates them. So instead of doing the smart, responsible thing, he grabs that brown bag up of the coffee table and unwraps the book inside. Once again, the feel of that leather in his hands puts a couple butterflies in his stomach. He flips open the cover, taking in the scent of old book pages. He can’t even begin to count how many times he’s read Lovecraft, but it feels like this every time he starts one all over again. 

  Dean barely registers the noise from Sam packing his books up. He’s completely enthralled, reading each story like he’s never read it before. He’s just finished  _ The Alchemist _ when Sam gives him a nudge to the shoulder. 

  “Hey man, you should get to sleep. We gotta head up to the hardware store tomorrow morning and I was thinking maybe we could drive up to Bangor or something? I don’t know, take a day off and relax?” Sam asks quickly, head down and looking a little unsure. 

 “Yeah, sure, Sammy. Sounds good. I’ll lock up here in a minute if you’re heading up.” Sam nods in return, a small grin showing before he turns to exit the room. Dean looks down at his new piece of treasure one more time, slightly stroking the page with his thumb, before closing it up and placing it gently on the coffee table. He stretches out his arms, above his head, then way out to the side, giving his tense muscles some relief. He shouldn’t be too old to curl up on the couch like that, but he apparently he is, so he pushes the thought out of his head. After a quick stretch of his legs as well, he crosses the living room to the back of the kitchen. They had left the door open out to the deck, letting the cool air travel through the screen. It was one of the best parts of this place. You do that in Lawrence, not only is there no breeze: it’s ungodly humid and you get bugs flying in and taking over your house. There’s nothing that distracts Dean from his writing more than a mosquito buzzing around his head.

 He shuts the door, double locking it, then double checking that it’s secure. It may not be that important in a seaside cottage out of town, but it’s a habit that Dean never shook. John had started leaving Dean in charge of Sam when he was probably 7 or 8, and had first made Dean practice locking the door in the motel room they were staying in. He couldn’t reach the chain for a couple of years, but he’d always pull a chair over to the door to boost himself up. Lock the handle, lock the bolt. Jiggle the handle, check the bolt, push and pull the door. Do it again. 

  He checked the front door as well, knowing it’s been locked since they arrived. They had already become accustomed to using the back door, and it’s not like anyone was visiting them. Jiggle the handle, check the bolt-  _ wait, why is the bolt unlocked?  _ He quickly turns it back to the locked position, trying to remember if he had unlocked it.  _ Nope, definitely not. Sammy musta turned it when he checked it. Whatever, it’s late. _

  Dean stomped up the stairs, into his makeshift bedroom, and let himself fall onto the blowup mattress in the center of the room. He realizes after a moment that he hasn’t brushed his teeth, or washed his face, or even changed into pajamas. He quickly decides it’s not worth it, succumbing to sleep right away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided that because they were so short, to combine Chapters 2 & 3, but nothing in there changed. Just felt like it flowed better that way once I added this chapter. I'm about halfway done with Chapter 4, so I'd say it should be up by the end of the week.  
> Let me know what you think! <3


	4. Chapter 4

   The following morning starts with a run down the beach, which Dean has to admit is much better than the treadmill, despite the extra effort it takes to run in the sand.  He hates to run, always has, but as an author, he wasn’t burning as many calories as he had when he was working at the autoshop, and he needed to stay in shape. So running was awful, but at least now it was here, on the beach, watching a sunrise. Better than watching a TNT marathon on the treadmill next to an old lady power-walking, that’s for sure.

  And if he happened to see the woman from yesterday again, that wouldn’t be the worst thing, right?

  The problem with the beach instead of a treadmill, though, is that Dean never accounts for the run back to the cottage. He runs until he can’t, and then he has to walk all the way back. But, it makes for a nice, relaxing morning walk along the water. So there he is, still a mile out from the cottage, watching the orange globe pop out of the water, and he feels something like contentment. He stops in his steps, turning out to the sea, walking up to it, so his toes are just barely touched by the waves that fall in. It sends a chill through his body, he knows his toes will be numb in a matter of a minute, but he loves being here. And then he thinks about John keeping them away from here. They never even knew their grandmother. Imagine being in this beautiful place as a family, the memories he should have here.

  And that contentment was gone like that. Even from the grave, John could ruin a good moment for Dean. _Fuck._ He picked up his feet, running back to the cottage, hoping to dear lord that Sam was up and had put on the coffee. _If a little bit of that Irish Rye above the fridge made it’s way in there, who would know?_

  As he climbed the wooden steps of the deck, he saw the blonde sitting out on the beach, maybe two hundred feet out. She had a book in her hand today, arms resting on her knees, feet bare and tucking into the sand. She was stunning, even from this far away. Even in her t-shirt and shorts and barefeet and hair pulled back into a braid, she looked every bit as graceful as she had in her delicate sundress. But he was not in the mood to flirt, he needed coffee, eggs and a warm shower. _Maybe coffee in the shower?_ He grunted as he pulled his t-shirt off while simultaneously pulling open the screen door.

 And just because it was starting out to be such a great day for Dean, the coffee maker sat empty, the fifth he had above the fridge was missing, and Sam hadn’t run the dishwasher last night, so he wash going to have to hand wash the frying pan to make his eggs. So goddammit, he was going to have bacon, too.

 Fifteen minutes later, the coffee pot was almost filled (minus the first half cup Dean had poured when he got impatient) and the frying pan was heating up. Sam was stumbling down the stairs, mumbling a few unrecognizable words as he extended his hand out for a cup of coffee from Dean.

  “What the hell happened to you last night?” Dean asks with an eyebrow, after he’s let Sam have a good gulp of coffee.

 “You were fucking screaming bloody murder all night, Dean. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t wake you up. I drank the rest of the fucking whiskey just to make myself pass out. You’re lucky we don’t have neighbors.” Sam grumbles out, bitter about his lack of sleep and his current hangover. He sits down at the card table, coffee in one hand, the other clasped over his eyes. “Shit, man, what were you dreaming about? You haven’t done that in years, Dean.”

  “I didn’t know I was. I don’t remember any of my dreams from last night.” He replies quietly, cursing this day silently in his head. Sam’s not interested in continuing conversation, judging by the fact that his whole head is down on the table now, arm curled around to block the light. He rolls his eyes and pulls out another two eggs and a couple extra slices of bacon. Sam was the biggest baby with a hangover, but Dean knew exactly how to snap him out of it after all these years. And he definitely did not want to go digging into his nightmares, or his leftover anger from the morning, so perking Sam up was fine by him.

  After Dean put a plate in front of Sam, the twenty minutes for him to start eating it, and then the fifteen to actually eat it, he forced Sam out of the chair and up to the shower. “Let’s go, Sammy. Get it together, cause we gotta get to the hardware store. And I need to do some writing today.” He threw a towel from the hall closet to him and closes the door, leaving Sam to his business.  Today is going to suck if Sam’s gonna be pissy the whole time, but he knew it was gonna suck anyway. He figures he might as well get some writing in, because Sam takes forever in the shower.

   

   Dean plops back down at the table with a fresh cup of coffee and his laptop. He stares at the screen for a moment, preparing himself before he has to look at the blinking cursor of blank, white page. He takes another large gulp of coffee before he opens up the word processor. There is nothing more intimidating than an empty page, cursor teasing you to start filling it with words that just won’t come. He bites his lip, wiggling his fingers over the keys, waiting for the words to arrange in his head. He expects to sit there for a while, just biting his lip and watching the cursor, but suddenly he starts typing, words flow out of him, and a story starts to build in front of him.

  An old, abandoned cottage, right on a bluff, high above the water that comes crashing into the rock at amazing force. Stormy, dark weather, lightning filling up the sky. Two shipwrecked honeymooners taking shelter in the cottage, slowly losing grip with reality, slowly turning into something not human. It’s coming out sloppy, but Dean’s writing and it feels wonderful.

 “Dean, get off the fucking computer and get ready. We need to get windows and the flooring ordered, and I don’t want to wait another day.” Sam pulls him out of the world he was busy bringing alive and back to the card table and his now empty cup of coffee.

  “You’re the one who spent an hour in the shower. I’ll be ready in ten minutes, keep your tits on.” Dean calls back, saving his document and shutting the laptop. _Fuck, that felt good._ Time for a quick shower and fresh clothes. Dean’s starting to feel like maybe it won’t be such a bad day, after all.

 

-

 

  Now that the two Winchesters are out of the house, they’re both starting to be a little more pleasant with each other. As they pull into the parking lot of the hardware store, they’re both laughing at Sam’s rewritten lyrics to the Top 40 song playing on the radio. Dean makes a mental note as he hops out of the truck to find out if there’s a good classic rock station around here, because this pop crap they’re playing isn’t going to work for him.

 The hardware store ahead is clearly a local place, but Dean’s alright with that. Sam may prefer those corporate places, but he finds that nothing is that much cheaper, and the employees at a family place are always much more helpful. He has high hopes as the automatic door swings open for him, and the smell of lumber and fertilizer hit his nose. Now that smell brings back some memories of John, and those are all pretty good as far as Dean is concerned. Fluorescent lights and some chirpy instrumental music plays over the crackly speakers. Dean loves this place immediately. Sam on the other hand, he doesn’t look as enamored with the store as he is. Until he sees the dark-haired girl in the red vest standing behind the customer service desk. She manages to keep a smirk on her face while chewing and popping her gum, which in theory isn’t very attractive but on this girl, it’s sexy as hell. She watches the two brothers make their way up to her counter before she greets them.

  “My, my, my. It must be my lucky day, boys.” The snap of her pink gum punctuates her sentence. “I don’t recognize you two, do I? New to town, I suspect?”

 “Sam. I’m Sam.” He offers, voice a note higher than normal. She gives him a smile in return and looks at Dean.

 “And you, Sweet Cheeks?” Dean can already feel the blush erupting over his face.

 “Name’s Dean Winchester. We’re brothers, just fixing up an old family home for the summer.”

 “Oh boo, brothers? I was hopin’ you were a package deal.” The smirk grows across her face, and somehow Dean is really attracted to, yet very annoyed with, this store clerk in front of him.

 “And you would be?” He replies, not wanting to touch her last comment at all.

 “I’m Meg, Sweet Cheeks. What can I help you with, now that I know you’re not helping me?” _Dear lord, she’s a feisty one._

 “We just need to order some windows and a coupla doors. I’m assuming you can help with that?” Dean snaps back.

 “Calm down there, hunny, I’m just teasing you.” POP! “But actually, I’m gonna let my husband help you with that one. Let me go grab ‘em for you.” _Husband? Feisty might be an understatement._

  Sam and Dean share a confused, yet entertained look while Meg goes to grab her husband.

 “Hey there, fellas!” A short, skinny, blonde, bobble headed man emerges  from one of the aisles. _Not at all what I expected._ Surprising both Sam and Dean, the man pulls them in for a hug at the same time. Dean stands there, unsure of what he should do, but knowing he definitely is not returning this weirdly affectionate hug from a stranger. Sam’s mouth hangs open a bit, as he lightly taps the man’s shoulder in return.

 “Uh, hey there, guy.” Dean responds, still feeling massively uncomfortable.

 “I’m Garth Fitzgerald, IV. Nice to meet you both! We are so excited to have you here in Belfast!” Garth’s excitement has not died down even slightly.

  “Good to meet ya, too, Garth. Sam and Dean Winchester. We just needed to order a few windows and doors, can you help with that?” Dean points to his brother and himself as he’s introducing them, not pausing to let Garth talk before he get down to business.

 “Well, that happens to be my job! Do you know what you’re looking for?”

  After they have everything ordered, as well as learned a bunch of practically useless information on every single door the store offers, and the same for windows, ( _Garth can really talk_ , Dean decides) Garth shows the brothers back to the door.

  “Hey, pals, Meg and I are having a little backyard barbeque this weekend, and we’d love to have you! You could meet some of the locals, and I make the best potato salad you'll ever have!” He writes the address down on the paper receipt for the order, as well as a date, time, and phone number. Dean raises a hand to decline, but Garth takes it as the approach for another hug.

  “Oh, I’m so excited for you to come! I just love to make new friends! Such a blessing.” He continues as he embraces Dean tightly. _Son of a bitch._

  “Yeah, that sounds great, Garth! We’ll be there for sure!” Sam says, a little too enthusiastically, and chuckles at Dean’s face.

 “You two have an amazing day!” Garth calls after Sam and Dean as the leave the store. Dean lets out a sigh of relief as soon as the door closes behind them.

 “Why the fuck did you tell him we’d go?” Dean smacks his brother on the back of his head.

 “Jesus, Dean! He’s a nice guy, and what else were we going to do on Saturday night? It would be nice to socialize a little bit.” Sam responds, rubbing the spot Dean hit.

 “Guy never stops talking and his wife is crazy. You want to socialize with them?” Dean asks.

  “Whatever, Dean, I’m going though. Now what do you want to do with the rest of the day?” Sam isn't in the mood to argue over this with Dean, and he really just wants to get out and do something besides study or work on the cottage. They both jump into the old truck, but Dean waits to start the engine.

  “What is there even to do here?” He questions, looking a little lost. Dean really has no idea what there even would be to do around here, besides sit on the beach.

  “We could just grab a drink or something?” Sam offers, knowing his brother would never turn that down.

  “Sounds good. I haven't shot pool in a while, that could be fun.” Dean’s face has chippered up a bit, and Sam smiles at his brother’s reaction.

 “There’s a little dive down the street, let's check it out.” Sam says, and they both jump out of the truck. The walk side by side down the sidewalk towards the bar. Well, until Dean shoulders Sam, causing him to stumble into the grass off to the side. Dean cracks up, Sam flips him off, and the two brothers chuckle together the rest of the way.


	5. Chapter 5

  It’s a dive, for sure. There's a faint mildew smell mixed with stale cigarette smoke, cut by the scent of the pilsner that seemed to be in most of the patrons’ glasses. Neon beer signs adorned the walls, broken up by faded posters advertising events that had passed years ago. There was one television hanging above the tap, surprisingly flat-screened, seemingly the only update to place in at least a decade. A tall woman with short, spiky brown hair leaned against the bar, arms crossed and eyes focused on the news report on the TV. 

  “Come on in, boys.” She called, still watching the reporter. “Take a seat.” 

  Dean gave a glance to Sam, eyebrows raised to say 'should we leave?’ but Sam listens to the woman and makes his way to the bar. He takes a stool, and motions for his brother to join him.

 “Name’s Jody. You two must be Mildred's grandsons.” The bartender finally turns in their direction, throwing a couple of coasters in front of them. 

  “Yes, we are. I’m Sam, this is my brother, Dean. Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand for a shake, which Jody takes hesitantly, with a squint of her eye, but gives a firm shake. “How'd you know? Do we look like her?” 

  “Not particularly, but I know everything there is to know in Belfast. Tending the only bar in town will do that.” She replies, crossing her arms again. “What can I get for you two?” Her raised left eyebrow gives the notion that she's still skeptical of the brothers. 

  “Do you have an IPA?” Sam asks, and Jody smirks. 

  “I've got Bud and Bud Light on tap.” 

  “I'll have a Bud, then.”

  “Double Jameson, two rocks, please.” Dean orders as she turns to him. 

  “Got it.” She turns to get their drinks.

  “Okay, this town seems to have some preconceived notions about us based on our dear grandmother, and I’m guessing they didn't like her. Any idea why?” Dean whispers over to his brother. 

  “Dean, I have no idea. I know next to nothing about her. Why does it matter, anyway? It's not like we'll be here long. Who cares if they don't like us?” 

  Jody drops their drinks onto their coasters, and crosses her arms once again, looking back and forth between the two of them. 

  “Thanks, Jody.” Dean flashes his best charming smile to her, hoping to warm her up a little. She rolls her eyes instead.

  “Is your father joining you in town?” Sam chokes on his beer, coughing violently into his fist. Jody’s eyes widen. 

  “John died.” Dean replies nonchalantly, while giving Sam a smack on the back to help settle.his fit.

 “I didn't know. Sorry for your loss, boys.” Her straight face turned into a frown. Her gaze softens to them, and she lets her arms fall to her sides. “Milly always hoped he'd bring you boys around someday.” 

  “He never even told us about her.” Sam elbows Dean in the ribs and gives him his 'shut-the-hell-up’ face. Jody nods back to them.

  “Let me know if you need anything else.” She gives them a faint smile, then turns around and goes back to her original spot at the other end of the bar.

  “I think it might be Dad they have a problem with.” Sam says quietly to Dean, but keeps his eyes focused to the TV. 

  “No shit.” Dean deadpans. He takes his first drink, letting the warmth sit on his tongue for a moment, dissecting the familiar flavors. He enjoys the burn of it sliding down his throat, and takes a deep breath. “Do we even know why they didn't get along?” 

  “I don't remember Dad ever telling us anything other than 'Her name was Mildred, lived up in Maine. Haven't been back there in years’ Never made it sound like she was still alive. He didn't want us to meet her, clearly. Maybe he had his reasons, Dean.” 

  “Why do you keep backing him up, Sammy? You never agreed with him while he was alive, why are defending him now?” Dean cuts back, a little louder than before. 

  “Says the son who followed him around like a dog, following all his commands, never questioning!” Sam is still whispering, but his tone has harshened. 

  “I only did what was best for you, Sammy.” Dean slams his fist down on the counter, startling the patron closest to them.

  “Whoa, Cowboy, calm down!” A petite blonde spun around in her chair, eyes squinting in annoyance right into Dean’s. 

  “Sorry, miss, got a little carried away.” He pulls out his charming smile again, noticing for the first time how attractive she is, especially all worked up.

  “Don’t call me 'miss’. I’m Jo, and you better wipe that smile off your face, turn your ass back around in that chair and bother someone else.”  _ Whoa.  _

  “Sorry, Jo. Didn't mean to cause a scene.” She gives him a smirk, dripping with sarcasm, and spins her chair back to face the person next to her. 

  “You wanna head back home? I need to get some work done.” Dean turns back to his brother, who is now wearing a smirk as well, failing to hide his amusement.

  “Probably best. I don't really want to have to bail you out of a fight tonight.”

  “Fuck off.” Dean shoots his brother a death glare, but it quickly breaks into a smile. He slaps a twenty down on the bar, jumps of his stool and stalks to the door.  “Thanks, Jodi! --You comin’, Sammy?” He calls behind him. He pushes through the door without waiting for an answer.

  
  
  


  Dean huffs as he finally pushes the door open, which took more effort than expected. 

  “Goddam door, goddam broken-down piece of shit house!” He grumbles to himself, taking off and tossing aside his jacket. It lands on a stack of paint cans with a loud 'clink’. 

  “Everything okay, Dean?” Sam follows his brother through the door, wondering what changed Dean’s mood so quickly. 

  “Yeah, Whatever, Sam.” Dean responds without looking back to Sam as he climbs the stairs to his room. The slam of the wooden door behind him causes Dean to wince. He’s not even sure why he’s so upset. He had felt fine, even good, until they got back to the house. He groans to himself as he unbuttons his jeans, ready to change into shorts and get writing. He leans down to take his boots off, but something catches his eye, causing him to shoot back up. 

  The boys hadn’t done much digging around the house, most everything had been moved out and sent to a storage unit before they arrived. Sam had thought it  would cut down on time, that they were better off sorting through it later. They just needed to focus on the house, and Millie’s old stuff could be dealt with anytime. It’s not like it would have been useful to them, anyway. 

  The door to the closet is open, and there’s a shelf set high against the wall, higher than the doorframe, so it’s just out of view at normal perspective. It seems the movers had missed it, too, as there was a small cardboard box sitting up on that shelf. When he stood back up, it disappeared from view. Dean’s brow furrowed as he made his way to the closet to pull down the box. He had to get up on his toes, but he managed to grab ahold of it with one hand. 

   As he stepped back from the closet, he wiped the layer of dust settled across the top from years of neglect. He cursed himself as he watched it shower onto his air mattress, meaning he’d have to wash the sheet tonight or sleep in it. He focused back on the box, reading the black Sharpie writing that was hidden under the dust. 

  His heart stopped in his chest. He can feel his head getting lighter, vision starting to the cloud from the outside in. In his father’s familiar writing, the letters ‘MARY’ are spelt across the top. As far as he knew, his father had not been back to his mother’s house since he had met Mary. Dean’s own mother had never been here, yet here was a box, with her name written by his father, hidden away in the closet. 

  Dean can’t move. He wants to open the box. He wants to see its contents, understand why they are here. He just can’t. His body won’t allow him. His brain has slowed. He can’t put together a complete thought. He just stands, staring, for a seemingly infinite amount of time. 

  Yet, it feels that suddenly he’s turning around, placing the box back up onto the shelf, and closing the door. He turns back to his bed, pulling up the thin, fitted sheet, and takes it down to the wash.


End file.
